


Tell You What You Mean to Me

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [7]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry Allen has ADHD, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: When he takes the time to think about it, the way Barry insinuates himself into Hartley’s space terrifies him. Were he a stronger man, he would flee to a different city and never look back. That doesn’t mean he can muster anything vaguely akin to alarm when Barry smiles at him, sunny-sweet and unguarded, and asks to be let a little bit closer.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 10
Kudos: 117





	Tell You What You Mean to Me

Hartley has never considered himself domestic. Even when he was young and naïve and hopelessly in love with the man he thought was Harrison Wells, he had never considered having a stable relationship, a shared flat, a joint space. Faux-Wells would never have permitted it; even if he had, Hartley valued his space too much. A flat to himself meant that the only person who could oust him in the event of a tragic failure would be the landlord. He’d needed that security. 

Sharing a flat with Barry has forced him to reevaluate. When he takes the time to think about it, the way Barry insinuates himself into Hartley’s space terrifies him. Were he a stronger man, he would flee to a different city and never look back. That doesn’t mean he can muster anything vaguely akin to alarm when Barry smiles at him, sunny-sweet and unguarded, and asks to be let a little bit closer. 

For all that Hartley keeps himself closed off, Barry is incapable of hiding when something troubles him. Out of deference to Hartley’s reticence, he tries, but the loss of his smile for even half an hour worries Hartley more than he would care to admit. To reassure him that it’s safe to discuss what’s troubling him, Hartley adopts the habit of asking each evening over dinner, “What happened today?”

(The first few times, Barry thinks it’s a reproach for something he did as the Flash. Hartley corrects him with as much patience as he’s capable of displaying, and Barry slowly grows accustomed to the new routine.)

He knows it’s been a particularly bad day when Barry doesn’t wait for him to ask. “Hey, Hartley, you’re always honest with me, right?”

Hartley tilts his head. He may not always tell the whole truth, but he doesn’t lie. “Yes.”

Barry nods down at his chicken. His normally bright eyes are dull and pensive, his expression downcast. When Hartley discovers what happened to sap the joy from his speedster, vengeance will be swift. “So if I was annoying or unbearable, you’d tell me?”

Hartley sets his glass of water on the table a little more forcefully than he’d intended. Rather than let Barry know how furious even the suggestion makes him, he keeps his voice light. “As Cisco will probably tell you, I’m the wrong person to gauge ‘annoying.’”

Barry manages a weak chuckle. “But really. Am I annoying?”

“Of course not.” Hartley reaches over and catches Barry’s hand. He’s discouraged when Barry wriggles free of his grasp, although he’s learned by now that it’s nothing personal; Barry simply can’t handle touch sometimes. “Did one of those bastards at the CCPD tell you otherwise?”

Barry shrugs. “Well, someone called me stupid, and everyone else in the room laughed, and it made me think. I was bad enough before I was the Flash—no focus, always late, memory like a sieve—and being the Flash made everything worse, and so I figured I’m probably at least annoying, and then it made me think about STAR Labs. Everyone there is brilliant—you and Caitlin and Cisco and Ronnie and Dr. Stein—and then there’s me, and I’m a subpar CSI on my best days, so yeah. Annoying and stupid and also kinda fat.” This is said with a disgusted glance at his plate. 

Hartley only realizes how tightly he’s clenched his teeth when speaking makes his jaw ache. _“Nothing_ could be further from the truth,” he spits. “You keep company with geniuses and hold your own. You are the furthest thing from stupid. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

Barry glances up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He’d worn this same look after Thawne’s death, as though the wrong word could shatter him. As it had then, his vulnerability softens Hartley’s rage. Rather than speak in anger, he chooses every word with care. 

“Your mind is built for seeing patterns, for making connections. You take minutiae and find the whole. That’s a valuable skill, perfect for a CSI.” Barry’s intelligence has never been in question. It’s his naïveté that periodically becomes frustrating. (Hartley won’t tell him this, of course. His innocence and forthrightness are endearing, and Hartley would do anything to preserve them.)

Barry prods at his chicken. “I have grasshopper brain. That’s what Iris called it when we were kids. And it makes me lose focus and I’m _stupid_ and I hate it, and now because Flash metabolism I can’t even take my meds.” 

Hartley raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were medicated. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call ADHD ‘grasshopper brain’ before, although it’s apt.” 

“It’s that obvious?” Barry drops his head into his hands. “Stupid and annoying…”

“Obvious, yes. Annoying—far from it.” The consistency of his response suggests to Hartley that this is more than a single joke. In all likelihood, he’s been called some variation of “stupid and annoying” since he was in school. (Hartley can relate, although in his case the insults were a bit more colorful and far more accurate.) “I assumed it was a side effect of your speed.”

“Nope, I was always like this. Just slower.” Barry pushes his plate away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—sorry. Uh, how’s STAR Labs?”

Hartley shakes his head. “No. You’re going to let me tell you that you’re brilliant and sweet, and you’re going to eat your chicken. Is it safe to infer that your sudden lack of appetite is also courtesy of the kind-hearted officers of CCPD?”

“They just noticed that I eat more these days, and I can’t tell them about my Flash metabolism. I get a lot of ‘eating for two’ quips.” Barry cuts a piece off his chicken but doesn’t raise it to his lips. Hartley reaches out, catches hold of his hand, and guides the bite to his lips. Somewhat reluctantly, Barry eats. “I don’t _have_ to eat more than a normal person as long as I’m careful with my speed.”

“Of course you do!” 

Barry bolts up from the table. Hartley holds out a hand to him, uttering soft apologies. He’d forgotten how sensitive Barry becomes when he’s upset. 

“Sweet boy. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” He catches Barry’s wrist and draws him back to the table. Barry lets himself be pulled, although he leans away from the point of contact. As soon as he’s seated, Hartley releases him and folds his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. It frightened me to hear you say that.”

Barry’s eyes widen. “You’ve gone hungry. I forgot.”

Hartley could try to scare him, but he doesn’t want to remember that time any more than he wants Barry to endure something similar. Instead, he says, “There’s no shame in keeping yourself fed—if not for yourself, then for me. I can’t watch you go hungry because some know-nothing from the CCPD can’t keep his mouth shut.” 

Slowly, Barry nods. He’s gazing at Hartley with the same desperate adoration from earlier. Hartley aches to pull him into a kiss, to whisper praise against his lips until he’s high on it, but not now. Any kind of kissing or touching will have to wait until Barry is in a headspace that’s more conducive to physical contact. 

“No matter what anyone says, you are beautiful, you are bright.” Hartley reaches over, cuts another piece off Barry’s chicken, and holds it to his lips. Shyly, Barry eats. “You will never be anything less than that.”

It feels barely sufficient to soothe the hurt of old, familiar insults, but it puts a faint spark back in Barry’s eyes. Sensing that he needs it, Hartley turns the conversation to the STAR Labs mishaps of the day. By the time he recounts Firestorm’s training-room disaster, Barry is openly laughing. 

Sitting with a pretty speedster in their shared apartment, sharing the woes and amusements of their day, is the last thing Hartley could have foreseen for himself. He can’t imagine anything that would make him more content.


End file.
